Porcelain Rose
by Illusion's Dagger
Summary: With boys that would fit anyone's desires, The Blooming Rose one of the best gay brothels in New York. But when Dave Karofsky's order becomes too precise, he is met with a face from his past. Kurtofsky. 3 Parts. Rated M for smutty goodness.
1. Part 1

_This is the first of three installments in the story_ Porcelain Rose._ It is a Kurtofsky and for this chapter, the only warnings are language. There are minor spoilers from season two of the show, but it focuses mainly on what is occurring at the time the story takes place.  
>Also, The Blooming Rose is a brothel used in Dragon Age II. I do not own it, but the name seemed fitting.<br>That being said, please enjoy this first installment! _

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><p>Dave strode into the little brothel like he owned the place. Hell, with the money he planned to spend there tonight, he might as well have. It was an admittedly quaint little place, although elegant. There were a few patrons seated, their boys on their laps, arms curled around necks like property. Well, they were, for the night anyways. Still, grandeur and rose-tinted glass aside, it was still plain to see that it was no more and no less than its most crude name; the Blooming Rose was a whorehouse.<p>

It was an interesting name, he thought, considering the clientele and the boys themselves. If he was trying to psychoanalyze it, the name would probably come down to the term 'deflowering' and how every single one of the boys looked like the most innocent of virgins. They were all small in frame, eyes large and doe-like, and looked as though they should still be learning civics in high school, not peddling their bodies for money. Psychoanalysis aside, the real reason for the naming of the brothel was probably far more simple than that. The owner, more than likely, thought the name sounded _pretty_, pretty enough for people to be drawn in and pay good money to fuck their brains out into some twink.

Bash it as he may, though, that was the exact reason Dave was there. He wanted to get his rocks off, and he wanted someone small and vulnerable to do it with. And the boys at the Blooming Rose were just his type.

He had been to gay brothels all over the United States, and some in Europe, for that matter. Although high-class wasn't exactly his first priority in most things, it was definitely one of the more important qualities he looked for in that particular domain. Besides, he had money to blow with his job as a psychiatrist (ironic, considering he had so many problems himself).

Rather than staying in one place to conduct his business, Dave chose to base his clientele all over the United States, and, on some choice occasions, Europe. And _nothing _compared to slamming your cock into some thin, little slut after a grueling day of helping someone work through their problems, when you can't even begin to sift through your own.

"What's your pleasure?" asked a suspicious-looking man as Dave walked farther in. Stopping, he looked the man over, taking in his appearance. He had one streak of gray through his deep chocolate hair and dark eyes that sparkled in the lighting of the room.

Adjusting his tie, Dave replied, "I want your best, and by that, I mean the prettiest. I want him to know what he's doing, though. I don't have time to teach some tramp. And I want him with a little... spice. Think you can do that?" His order was rather specific for a whorehouse, and the man quirked his eyebrow. He rubbed his fingers together, showing that such a specific demand would cost extra, and Dave pulled out a thick roll of fifties and hundreds, placing it in the shifty man's hand as a reply. One nod was exchanged.

"I think we have just what you're looking for. We will have one of our employees take you to a private room which you may occupy for as long as you desire. Your...order will be up with you shortly."

"Send some scotch up with the whore."

"Of course," the man said with a curt grin.

And with that, the psychiatrist was lead upstairs by one of the employees of the club. It was an exquisite room with king sized, four-poster bed in the middle. It was adorned in a soft, white duvet and at least a dozen pillows. There was a high-backed chair in the corner, a bucket of ice resting on the table just next to it. The lights were on a wheel to adjust brightness, and Dave twirled it around, the room darkening so there was only a dull glow. As he ventured farther into the room, he saw a rosewood-trimmed sofa with small pillows. Through a small room was bathroom, complete with a clawed, porcelain bathtub and large mirrors paneling the walls. There was a closet just to his left, slightly ajar, and he expected there to be several costumes along with a chest of some sort that contained various sex toys and bindings.

After he found the room to his liking, Dave took off his suit coat and laid it down on the back of the chair. Kicking off his shoes, he began loosening his tie before he heard a soft knock on the door. "Come in," he said, and he heard the door opening and closing behind him. "What's your name?"

There was a moment of silence, the only sound being someone setting a tray down on a small table. And then came the voice that nearly made Dave's heart stop. It had been years since he had heard that sweet, high voice, and his reaction was the same as it was in high school. One little uttering of "Porcelain," was just enough to make his palms slick with sweat and his heart start to pound.

Yet another moment of silence passed, and it seemed like ages before Dave accumulated enough courage that he could turn around. There was a soft clink and the sound of liquid splashing into the bottom of a glass.

And then it happened. He caught sight of Kurt for a moment, and his head was bowed as he poured some scotch into a short glass and then plucked an ice cube from a small, steel bowl he had brought up with him as well. Kurt's eyes turned up towards him slowly, starting to hold out a glass to him when his eyes flicked over his face. In that instant, in a flash of obvious fear, Kurt dropped the glass from his hand and backed towards the door. Dave wasn't sure if he should approach him, but then came Kurt's soft whimper that warned him to stay back, and so he did.

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><p>Why was <em>he<em> here? Well, of course he knew _why _he was here, but... Of all the people that could have come to this place, it had to be him. It had to be David Karofsky, asking for someone who looked so specifically like him. Of course. It was just Kurt's luck, wasn't it?

He must look like an idiot. Standing in a tight shirt that hung just off his shoulder, pants that were nearly too tight even by his standards, and a pair of knee-high boots. He looked like a fucking prostitute, which...that's what he was. Granted, he often preferred the flowery name of 'courtesan', but how much rose-tinted lipstick could you apply to this career choice to make it any less despicable, any less attractive?

Granted, it had never been a choice for him, or at least not one that had been made by him. Maybe he should have never left Blaine, and he wouldn't be in this disaster, but that was water under the bridge by this point. Especially now that the boy who had stolen his first kiss was standing just a few feet from him, staring at him in disbelief. Then again, if anyone he knew in high school was working as a prostitute, Santana Lopez included, he would probably have a similar look of shock on his face.

"What are you doing here?" he asked finally, his voice warbling a little as he spoke. His arms were snaked around his waist, crossed over his stomach, and his head was still bowed a little though he could see Dave if he tilted his gaze up a little.

There was silence for a moment before the other man's voice came a little more even, a slight chuckle in his voice. "Y'know...I was gonna ask you the same thing, Hummel." The response, the sharp edge of humor in his voice, it all put Kurt in a foul mood. He unfolded his arms, pushing himself from the door and looking up at the boy who had made his first few years of high school Hell.

"Oh, what an intuitive question, Karofsky. I'm really impressed. Did you dig that gem of a response out of the closet you hid in all through high school?" he retorted, voice now holding a dangerous edge to it. He almost regretted saying it, noticing as Dave's expression dropped slightly at the mention of high school. But he had no remorse, not really; he was far too embarrassed trying to defend his last scrap of honor.

"Yeah? Well, at least I'm not fuckin' dudes for money. That's really fuckin' pathetic, Fancy."

"Not near as pathetic as having to _pay _just so you can get laid."

The harsh exchange of words ended the moment Kurt so something crack in Dave's face. The angry boy who couldn't properly put the 'ing' suffix on the end of the word faded away, and what stood in his wake was the same boy who had managed to choke out an apology in the hallway before Kurt went into French class. "...Karofsky?" he asked, his tone softened considerably as the anger melted away from him.

Silence settled on the room as Kurt looked up at the larger man, just now noticing his dark designer suit coat on the chair and his loose plum tie. His shoulders were more slumped, and the smaller boy watched intently as his hand raked through his slightly longer hair. He had thinned only slightly since high school and he looked far better than Kurt's memory or his humiliation-induced rage could see. For the first time, it occurred to Kurt that Karofsky must have been more than just successful after he left McKinley, unlike him. His mouth grew dry at the thought; Karofsky, who he had always thought was this idiot jock, had made a comfortable living while Kurt, with dreams of Broadway or Vogue, had ended up selling his body.

"Look," came the larger boy's deep voice, jarring Kurt from his thoughts, bringing him back to the reality of the situation. "I bought you for the night, and I'm not gonna sit here with you, talkin' about who's more pathetic than who. It doesn't really matter, 'cause we're both pretty fucking sad. Now, I didn't ask for you, specifically, but you're what I got. And I guess you do kinda fit my criteria, so here's how this is gonna work. I'm gonna fuck you senseless, get my money's worth, and you're gonna do your job. That's it. All it is is business. I'll treat you like I've treated the others, and you treat me like all those other guys you let poke you in the ass. Simple."

Kurt's mouth formed into a curt smile, tilting his head in agreement to the proposition that the other man had made. It had been vain for him to think, for even the slightest of moments, that Karofsky might have developed some sort of conscience after high school along with his career. He should have known better, considering the place that they were in. The Blooming Rose. A whorehouse. Karofsky wasn't all too different from the scared, closeted boy he had known throughout his high school career. Instead of showering him in cold slush now, he was showering him in his filthy money. But money earned by doing what? Kurt didn't dare ask. That was hardly his place as a _whore_.

The courtesan straightened up, a smile painted on his lips as he laid a hand delicately on Karofsky's shoulder, his fingers tracing down the broad bone, over the toned muscles. He watched the taller boy's eyes soften a little, then felt a large hand cupping his supple waist, a thumb gently caressing over the skin there.

Leaning up, in a voice as delicate as rose petals fluttering to the ground, Kurt whispered, "What is your pleasure, _sir_?"


	2. Part 2

_**Part 2/3**  
>I apologize for not having this chapter in sooner. Smut is rather difficult for me to write. I know that's no excuse, but it's the only one I can offer.<br>__This chapter contains smut and mild BDSM.  
><em>

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><p>The back of Kurt's legs hit the edge of the bed, causing him to topple onto the dark duvet, the large figure falling on top of him. It wasn't the first time he had been in such a position, and he highly doubted it would be the last. He had thought, or maybe it had been hoped, that because he had known David before everything had happened that none of this would take the turn that it always did. He realized, now, that it had been a fool's hope. No one treated him like a delicate flower in the Blooming Rose. It was all brash fucking, whipping, shackling, cumming. He was an idiot to think that Dave Karofsky would have changed any of that.<p>

No, Kurt realized, this is probably exactly what he wanted in high school every time he shoved me up against a locker.

The thought scared Kurt, and forced him to look away from the man above him, closing his eyes tightly. For a moment, he was back at his Junior year at McKinley, laughing with his friends, pining over boys he would never have, not even able to watch _those_ movies, getting body-checked and slushied by Karofsky. It was too hard, too hurtful for him to imagine that the same boy who had left him with bruises from his harsh shoves and stolen his first kiss was now straddling him on a king-sized bed after having _paid good money_ for him. It was easier to pretend that Karofsky was just another client that Kurt had never met before today and would, hopefully, never meet again.

"What's your name?" Kurt asked, using all the measures of the facade he was putting up. He watched as Karofsky pulled away a little, quirking a brow.

"You know my name."

In a voice a little firmer, his fingers curling against the skin of his client's neck, he responded, "No. I do not."

There was a small silence, but Kurt could sense as it clicked into place like a set of gears churning against each other in Karofsky's mind. A low chortle filled the room and Kurt set his jaw. Slightly offended, he stayed silent, waiting for the larger man to get a grip on his minor case of the giggles.

"Do you always ask your clients their names?" came Karofsky's voice, a tinge of a low chuckle still laced in his words. All it managed to do was force a deep-set frown on to Kurt's face. Karofsky wasn't an idiot in non-academic situations, Kurt would have to give him credit for that. However, it was also a poorly orchestrated facade, so Kurt wouldn't exactly praise him for seeing through it either.

"Yes." The word was very drawn out and through gritted teeth, and such a poor excuse for a lie. Still, Kurt kept his eyes locked on the larger man above him, trying not to notice the mixed sort of hazel green in his eyes for the first time.

There was silence for a moment, and the smaller boy thought perhaps his client was trying to think up a sort of stage name for himself. 'Neanderthal' would've done just fine for Kurt, and would have probably amused him as well. However, suggesting the insulting nickname he had thought up back in high school (one that he did not feel the least bit of remorse for, considering the numerous appellations that Karofsky had dubbed him with) would only result in the destruction of the veneer he was trying to uphold.

The larger boy's deep voice came finally, a rumble of "Karofsky." Kurt was surprised, seeing as he had expected there to be some sort of clever alias after all that thought that he had seemed to put into it. Obviously, he hadn't gained all that much intelligence since their high school years.

"Well, Mister Karofsky-"

"_Doctor_ Karofsky."

Karofksy's words were so clear, so crisp that Kurt's entire body tensed and a chill ran through him. He felt his fingers inadvertently coil around the small hairs on the back of the other man's neck. A _doctor_? Not only had Karofsky obviously done well for himself, he had become a doctor as well? Gotten a PhD in some unknown field? Maybe he even lived here in the city, had a gorgeous wife at home and a couple kids with his deep hazel eyes, and his strong cheekbones. Maybe he-

Kurt cut the thoughts off. It was a lie, it had to be. That was why he had spent so long thinking up an answer when Kurt had asked him originally, and now he was just attempting to impress him. Well, he was still the same lying loser he was in high school, and Kurt could see right through him. He was like a pane of glass - so transparent.

Letting out a short laugh, near a scoff, Kurt nodded and trailed his tender hands down the ripples of Karofsky's arms. He couldn't help himself as he returned, "Right. PhD. You look more like someone who takes out the _trash_ in the hospital." His voice held a tinge of laughter as well.

He watched as the man above him's face slowly darkened. Kurt could feel his heart thudding in his ears with just a flip of the switch.

And with something so simple as the taunting insult, something had broken inside Karofsky. He wasn't looking up at some composed client as he had been before. Now, he was looking up at the boy he had known in high school. As he watched the smile fade, the eyes go blank, Kurt knew exactly what he'd done. He watched as Dave shook his head, just a slight movement, barely even discernible as a shake. His marvelously arched brows knitted together, his lips pulling up as well. All he saw was that scared little boy in the locker room and the scene he had played over and over again in his head.

All he saw was Karofsky's face right after he had told him that he didn't like chubby, sweaty, balding boys. So confused, full of anger, hatred, self-loathing.

So, of course, the broken look soon faded to the familiar anger, and Kurt was only half surprised when he was flipped harshly onto his stomach. The fingers digging into his hips were going to leave bruises, he just knew it. But what were a few more bruises? Really, he should have been more used to this type of treatment from the neanderthal he knew in high school.

Feeling a warm breath next to his ear, Kurt perked his head up a little from the mattress, ready to tell his customer to go and fuck himself - that would send him reeling - but a low voice came instead. "Can't judge a book by its cover, Fancy. You should've figured that out by now. I mean, you look like you should be working at Vogue. But here you are... getting your ass pounded by random guys just so you can make a buck..." There was silence for a moment, then Dave was talking again, though his voice was farther away, and Kurt's head was shoved back into the dark duvet so that he could scarcely breathe.

"And y'know what? Serves you right too. Little, fucking prudent Kurt Hummel. Going on and on to that pillowbiting boyfriend of yours that I stole your first kiss. That I defiled you. Sexually harassed you. And now you're sellin' your ass like its an out of season Gucci scarf takin' up space in your closet." A pause followed, and Kurt gave a gasp as his head was yanked harshly up by his roots. It felt like his hair was about to be pulled out in clumps from his head and he would be left bald. "And now you've gotta sell it to _me_. It's not sexual harassment when your giving it out to everyone, now, is it, Fancy?"

Not finding his witty retorts or diva comebacks anywhere in his vernacular, the smaller man settled for keeping his mouth firmly shut. He felt as though his heart was going to fall into the pit of his stomach, then be dissolved by the acids that lay there. There was a burning want to kick the larger man off of him, make a break for it. However, Karofsky had paid for him. This was his _job_, and he wasn't about to be punished by his boss for not servicing his customer to the best of his abilities. With that thought, he managed to press his hips back against the other man's crotch, rubbing against him. A low groan emitted from behind him, followed by an ever-hardening hill pressing against his ass.

But it was starting to feel more like a mountain than a hill, and Kurt tacked on the excuse that he was trained to moan at such a sensation. However, one had never actually _escaped_ him rather than him having to force it out.

"You're all talk... you've always been all talk." A little frustrated that his voice came out breathier than he would have liked, Kurt needily rubbed his backside against the larger man's pelvis again. "Even in high school...so why don't you just _do _something about it."

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><p>That was all the prompting Dave needed. There was barely a flicker of a thought in the back of his mind about whether or not he was just another customer for the man beneath him; a customer with a history, but a customer nonetheless. No, he was far too focused on the curve of Kurt's hips flush against his own, the friction causing the most delightful sensation in his nether regions. Uttering a low, guttural grunt, Karofsky wrapped his thick fingers around the button of the smaller man's trousers.<p>

"Turn around," he commanded in a heavy tone, though his voice sounded like a whisper in his mind. He watched in silence as the courtesan propped himself back up and turned around to reveal cheeks pinked with arousal and a bottom lip pulled between his teeth. The lip was released, the color slowly flooding back into it, making it a deep red. A sharp pang of arousal sounded through Dave's body, making itself comfortable in the increasingly tight area in the crotch of his pants.

The smaller man looked up at him with half-lidded eyes, as though waiting for his next order. A voice inside Dave's head reminded him that this was Kurt's _job_, he wasn't actually enjoying any of these things. He wasn't actually aroused by any of these, nor did he want to have sex with him. It was almost enough for Dave to leave and forget about the entire ordeal.

Almost.

His fingers hooked in the waistband of Kurt's tight jeans, pulling them over the curve of his ass and past his thighs. Standing up from the bed, he unzipped the other's boots, dropping them to the floor and pulling the skinny jeans the remainder of the way off with relative ease.

The words that came out of Kurt's mouth when he settled himself back on the bed surprised the larger man, though it probably shouldn't have.

"What? You don't want to screw me in my 'fuck-me' boots?" The voice was sultry, and upon looking at Kurt's face, he found that his finger was trailing the seam of his lips enticingly. The swelling in Dave's jeans became even more unbearable, causing him to shift on the bed uncomfortably. However, Kurt caught the shift, moving his leg quickly and settling it in between the V of Dave's thighs. A groan escaping his lips. The psychiatrist closed his eyes tightly and exhaled a deep breath from his nostrils.

A short nod was all that he could offer in response, then, somewhere, after what felt like digging for ages, he found his own voice once more. "Undo my pants."

Barely a second had passed before Kurt was on his knees, deft fingers working to undo the simple buttons on Dave's suit pants. The process took a little longer than it had when Dave had been undoing his, considering the fact that Kurt was doing it one-handed, appearing to become distracted every now and again by the fascination of rubbing his palm against the bulge beneath the fabric. Although he watched as Kurt licked his lips, seemingly subconsciously, it wasn't until his pants were down around his thighs, his erection less constricted in the thin fabric, that Kurt let out a soft, surprised whimper.

"_Oh_," came that soft, falsetto voice that Dave was more-than-familiar with. However, the usually airy quality of Kurt's voice was weighed down with lust. It was nearly too much, watching as Kurt leaned in, pressing his full lips to the outline of Dave's clothed erection, licking the fabric and sending a pang of pleasure coursing through the larger man's body.

When the fabric of his boxers was pulled down far enough so that his cock was released, slightly springing from the restraints, another short gasp found its way into the air, having made an escape from Kurt's lips.

There was a stuffy silence for a moment before the courtesan wrapped his fingers around the base of the Dave's cock, pulling his hand up in a short stroke. Dave sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, biting near hard enough to draw blood before he heard Kurt speak. "...you're really big...I hadn't expected...mmm...most guys come in here to compensate for how small they are...and I thought in high school...you might have been overcompensating...but you weren't... You're...wow."

And Dave nearly let himself fall for the act of a whore doing his job. Ten years ago, he would have fallen over himself if Kurt had been praising the size of his cock, running his hand over the shaft idly but with purpose. Now, he was near to doing the same, but realization struck him that this was all some play, some part that Kurt had constructed to pleasure his costumers. Dave was no different than any other, but why should he be?

And so the question arose once more; why should Kurt be any different than any of the other whores Dave had paid for?

The larger man released a bit of a harsh grunt, pulling Kurt away from his erection and shoving him so that he was laying back on the bed. The bed springs creaked in protest from the sudden, violent movement, and Kurt was sent sprawling on the dark duvet, a wide-eyed, confused look splashed across his face. It took a substantial amount of willpower not to coddle the smaller man right there, letting him continue on with his production. However, Dave reminded himself that no one played doe-eyed innocent better than Kurt Hummel.

"I'm not paying you to talk. I'm paying you to do what the fuck I say." There was a pause in the air, the smaller man making no movement, still obviously in shock from whatever lustful spell he had been under, or, as Dave thought, trying to regain himself after his act was shattered. "Now take your panties off and move farther up the bed," he continued in a rough voice. He took of his own trousers and boxers the rest of the way, moving himself off the bed, then walking over to the closet and pulling out the chest of kink items. Finding a bit of rope and a ball gag, he figured the minor excursion a success, closing the lid and turning back to Kurt, finding him in the exact position he had requested.

Without so much as a word, Dave moved to where Kurt was on the bed, and grabbed his hip firmly, twisting him over so that he was flat on his stomach. Taking the rope, he tied Kurt's hands together behind his back, letting his face press into the mattress before he yanked him up harshly by the back of his hair. The ball gag was strapped into place within a moment, Karofsky letting Kurt's head fall back against the dark comforter of the bed.

His hand running over Kurt's flexed shoulder, feeling as it rippled beneath his fingertips, Dave bent over Kurt. He could hear the labored breathing behind the gag, the other man's breath coming out in short pants through his nostrils, as if he was terrified. Such a good actor.

"I should fuck you until you _scream_, Fancy." A short noise came from behind the gag, and Kurt's eyes shut. Not able to tell if it was a whimper of wanting or one of fear, Dave pressed his palm to Kurt's neck, pushing it down and burying his face deeper in the mattress. "In fact...that might be just what I do... Bet you'd like that, wouldn't you, _whore_?"

It seemed strained, but the smaller man nodded his head almost as soon as the question was asked, though his eyes were still tightly screwed shut. It was as though it was an automatic, fluid answer that had been drilled into his mind. Still, that did not detour Dave from the task at hand, and he abruptly sat back up, kneeling between Kurt's legs. He reached over to the bedside table, pulling out a string of condoms as well as some KY from it, laying them back on the bed.

Without so much as a thought, Dave ripped open the package, taking out the rubber and rolling it onto his erection. A healthy amount of lubricant was applied before he slid his hand under Kurt's stomach, bringing his hips up to a level that Dave could work with.

Not even a thought went through his mind of prepping, and why would it? Kurt was a _whore_; by definition, he did not need to be stretched to accommodate Dave's girth or length, considering he gave it up about every day. But Kurt must have been a fantastic actor, considering the moment the larger man slammed into him, a muffled scream erupted from behind the gag. And he was _tight_. Not near virgin-tight, but also a far cry from what Dave had expected him to be working in a place like the Blooming Rose and looking the way he did.

But even the smothered yelp that came out as Dave drew out and thrust back in was not a road block in the larger man's eyes. His hips picked up speed, the bed springs giving off their dutiful creaking sound. The sharp sounds of skin on skin cut through the air as he continued to hammer into the courtesan.

None of the sounds of the brash fucking could have sheltered the sound that came from Kurt, though. A soft whimper, caught just barely at a moan. Dave noticed how his hands were fisted into balls behind him now, trying to get free so he could find some relief. Only slowing the motion of his hips a bit, he reached around, taking Kurt's length in his hand and stroking him, earning a louder, muffled moan from behind the gag. Dave almost lost himself right then and there.

Keeping one hand steady on the smaller man's hips, he moved the one that was on his length to undo the gag, letting it fall to the bed. "You're likin' this, aren't you, Fancy?"

There was only silence for a split second before Kurt's unrestricted moans filled the room, short little breaths coming from his mouth before he could even speak. When he did, it was almost a rushed, lust-induced, addicted person talking. Begging. "Yes...yes yes! You're so _big_. Mmm... Fuck me harder, Karofsky... fuck me harder. Yes! Rightthereohgod_please_!"

Dave moved his hand down the small of Kurt's back, his fingers dragging through the small pools of sweat that had collected there in the crevices of his spine. His hands were already at the rough knot of the rope when he heard Kurt's voice again.

"Untie me...fuck, Dave...untie me..."

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><p>Kurt really wasn't expecting Dave to untie his hands, for the simple reason that there was a quite large chance that he would retaliate and fight back to what was being done to him. And that should have been exactly what Kurt was planning on doing as soon as he was free of the larger man.<p>

But it wasn't.

No, instead, the moment that his hands were free from their bindings, Kurt propped himself up on his palms and pushed his hips hard back against Dave. Mouth open, he let out a soft gasp as Dave's (admittedly larger than he was used to) cock brushed past his prostate.

His own length was developing a dull, consistent ache to it, and he was forced to think back and try to remember the last time he had had an orgasm. Most of the customers didn't care about his needs, simply about their own. But that was right. They were the customers. They were paying for this, and Kurt was earning back his freedom. He was supposed to serve them, not the other way around.

Still, that thought boring a hole in his mind did not stave him from opening his mouth and pouring out, "Dave...touch me," in a pleading voice that surprised even himself.

The thrusts did not slow down, and Kurt thought perhaps that he would be left to deal with himself. His hand was just sliding down over his stomach when he felt a different, bigger, stronger hand moving inward over the skin of his thigh. A staccato of a breath left him before he sucked in air through his nose, mind reeling as he felt the same hand wrap itself around his length, pumping just barely off the beat of the thrusts into his body.

Burying his face into the duvet, the smaller man let out a noise halfway between a squeal and a moan when a sharp thrust backward on his part met a barreling one by David. His fists curled around the blanket, fisting large clumps of fabric in the sudden flourish of ecstasy he was being submitted to. His hips continued to push themselves back, meeting Dave's almost every time. The room, before filled with heated words and past memories, was now transformed into nothing but the sound of their bodies meeting, Dave's low grunts, Kurt's breathy moans.

After what seemed like hours of fluid movements, which really only accumulated to around three-quarters of an hour, Kurt found himself on his back, hand over his chest. His eyes were closed as he listened to the soft, steady breathing beside him. Rolling his head to the side, he opened his eyes, only to be graced with a pair of hazel ones belonging to one David Karofsky.

"Do you always stay so long after you fuck your whore?" he asked, trying to be as curt as he could with the other man. Still, he couldn't help it as a soft smirk fell onto his face.

He watched as Dave propped himself up on his elbow, looking down at him. "Do you always come three times in one session? Or am I going to have to pay extra for that too?"

Letting out a soft chuckle at the question, Kurt looked back towards the ceiling, electing not to answer. It almost didn't feel right to make David pay for him; not when it had been more of a pleasure than a service. Completing ignoring it, he hesitated before asking, "...will you come again?"

With that simple question, there was a silence. Kurt found himself waiting with a bated breath, hoping this would be a recurring theme. But the silence on the other man's end worried him.

"No. I won't be here again."

When the answer finally came, Kurt wished he had never asked the question in the first place. It would have been better just to hope rather than to have all hopes smashed. Why was he hoping that Dave would return in the first place, he chided himself. He was his former-bully, no matter if it was the best sex he had ever had. Why would he come back just to pay money for another fuck?

Kurt let out a soft 'oh' before the pair were cast back into silence. And that was how they laid for the next hour, completely silent, in a bed of soiled sheets. When Dave finally did leave, he merely dressed himself, offered a simple goodbye, and was out the door. One night, one fuck, hundreds of dollars, a lifetime alone.

Such was the life of courtesan.


	3. Part 3

_The final part.  
>This chapter has not been beta checked like my other chapters have, but I did proofread before posting.<br>And so this is how it all ends. Sure, it's a little saccharine sweet at the end, but what are you going to do. Also, I rather went off on a bit of a tangent towards the end, but I just couldn't find a good place to end it.  
>And now, part three of<em> Porcelain Rose.

* * *

><p>Kurt's arms hung loosely around the older man's neck, but his eyes never met his for more than a moment. With flaxen hair and deep green eyes, the man might have been attractive twenty years ago. Now, he was probably fifty with a loving wife and a kid in Harvard, and after he was done here, he would go back to them and his well-paying job. And Kurt would be left here, same as he always was.<p>

It was over almost as soon as it started, Kurt barely even playing along with his pleasure. And then he was taken again in a different angle. He was scarcely even hard - not that the man above him would notice.

After about a half hour of doing what he could to satisfy the man, he was left on his own again. His arousal was gone within a few moments without him even having to take care of it, considering there wasn't much to 'take care of' anyways. Instead, he simply laid face-down on the dark duvet of the bed, thinking about the one night of almost-happiness he had had with Dave. But thinking about that only forced him to remember that it had been a little over three weeks and the former-bully had stayed true to his word. He hadn't come back to the Blooming Rose since that one night, and all Kurt's idiotic dreams of maybe _being_ with someone were smashed. It was absurd of him to even _hope_ for some sort of fucked up idea of love.

Love had never been kind to Kurt Hummel anyways. Perhaps once in high school he thought he had it with Blaine, but it had been just that; high school love. Kurt began to realize that the only reason Blaine dated him was because Kurt acted like a doting teenage girl in one of those horribly cliché teen movies. The last straw had been a one Sebastian Smythe and Blaine's indiscretion with him. If Kurt had known what would happen with his post-high school boyfriend, though, he would have forgiven Blaine in a heartbeat.

But Kurt was no psychic. After high school, he traveled to New York to attend Julliard to study drama. It was at a party halfway through his Freshman year that he met Marc Scélérat. Kurt was instantly infatuated by his dark hair and thick, French accent. They would share coffees together, talk in Marc's native tongue, and when they made love, even the filthiest of language sounded like poetry against Kurt's ear.

Happiness was short-lived, though, and before he had even finished his first year of college, Kurt was drugged and captured by the workers of the Blooming Rose. Marc, he was told, had a very high debt to pay to the brothel because of his visits. The owner of the Rose, a Mister Phillip Bradford, had agreed that Kurt would be sufficient payment for his debts. Of course, the Frenchman had agreed, and Kurt was meant to work off a debt that was not even his. However, Phillip had it arranged that only the highest payers were allowed to touch Kurt. Altogether, it was meant so that Kurt wouldn't be able to work off his debt until he was around forty, and by that time there would hardly be a use for him anymore anyways.

To the rest of the world, he had just fell off the edge of the earth. He was sure his father had paid to have it investigated, but obviously the search had come up fruitless, or Kurt would no longer be here. After eight years, he had given up hope. He had been nineteen when he was captured, and now, at twenty-seven, he had lost all hope of being anything except a courtesan.

He really wasn't sure how long he had been lying on the bed when one of the guards of the house came into the room without so much as a knock. Kurt was still lying naked, though he made no move to cover himself. "I know. I know. I'm going back to my room right now," he said, a little annoyed before sitting up. His bed was so much less comfortable than the one he was currently laying on, daydreaming.

"Mister Bradford would like to have a word with you, Porcelain." Kurt looked back at the guard with a quirked brow as he tugged on his pants. Phillip hardly ever talked to the boys of the house. Even Kurt, his 'favorite', had only talked with him _maybe_ twelve times in his eight years.

"...Am I allowed to know what it's about?"

"You'll find out when you talk to him, now won't you?"

Kurt's lips formed an irritated line, but he nodded, albeit a bit stiffly. After pulling on his shirt, he followed the guard from the room down the hallway. When they reached the 'common room', as it was so aptly called, he noticed some of the fellow courtesans entertaining their own guests. No one noticed as he walked by, but that was scarcely a surprise. The customers were rather occupied by what they had bought.

After he was shown into Mister Bradford's office, Kurt walked quickly towards the desk. "What is this about, Phillip?" he asked as soon as the door was shut behind them. The man behind the desk gestured to the chair, and Kurt obediently sat down.

Phillip was nearing fifty, but somehow still very attractive. He had deep brown hair, a streak of gray accenting it like a bolt of lightning. His eyes were as dark as his hair, perhaps darker, and even in the dim light of the office, they glistened. His smile was unnaturally white and always curled in a sly smile. He reminded Kurt of a fox; beautiful and charming, but also cunning, sly, and dangerous.

Silence clung to the pair of them for a moment before Phillip's voice cut through it. "Kurt..."

That was enough to make Kurt's heard speed up to a heavy patter. Phillip hadn't used his name since he was first brought to the Rose, always calling him 'Porcelain' like everyone else. Jarred from thoughts as he began talking again, Kurt's light eyes found his dark ones in a moment.

"I'm afraid this will be the last time I speak with you. In a few minutes, you will be escorted from this room and into a car waiting outside, meant to take you anywhere you would like to go. You are also to be given a sum of two thousand dollars to be spent on whatever you would like, but I would suggest an apartment or a plane ticket."

Completely at a loss for words, Kurt's jaw fell open. He was free? Just...all of a sudden. He wasn't meant to pay off his debt until he was forty, and even then he wasn't supposed to have any spending money. "Wh-what?" he croaked out when he finally could form even the simplest of words.

Phillip wore that wry smirk that Kurt had grown accustomed to. It was that smirk in which the owner of the Rose knew more than his boys did, and so it came up quite often. His voice was even as he explained, "Your debt has been paid off by a _very_ generous customer. He was even generous enough to pay two thousand extra to have you live comfortably when we released you."

Kurt, still utterly bewildered, had his mind working overtime to try and figure out exactly what was happening. The gears shifted and strained against themselves, turning the wheels of his mind. "...who?"

There were a few page turns on Phillip's side of the desk, and Kurt watched his dark eyes scan over the words idly until pinpointing what he was looking for with his fingertip. "A...Mister Karofsky."

"...Doctor."

"Ah...yes. Doctor Karofsky. Pardon. He seemed very adamant that you be released, willing to pay any amount he needed to. You must have given him _quite_ a show," the owner remarked with a devious glint in his eyes. He knew. Kurt was sure of it. He wasn't sure what Dave had told him to make him release him, what sum they had agreed on, but he was sure that Phillip Bradford knew of what was between them. Then again, Phillip knew everything that went on behind the walls of the Rose.

Kurt sat in silence with his former owner of sorts for a few moments before he murmured a 'thank you, Phillip,' and walked from the room. A guard was outside the door, just as Phillip had promised, and lead him past the other boys, into a hallway in back. He was handed an envelope, obviously containing his two thousand. After that, he was escorted out back where a slick, black car was waiting for him. The car willing to take him wherever he wanted to go.

Sliding into it, Kurt looked at the interior. Instead of telling the man exactly where he wanted to go - something he had already decided on - he asked, "...is this a hotel car?" in a hesitant voice.

"Yes, sir."

"Which hotel?"

"The Ritz-Carlton, sir. Battery Park." Kurt's eyes darted to the rear view mirror, catching the driver's eye. He was surprised for only a moment. Of course Dave would have rented a room at one of the most luxury hotels in New York City. He had enough money to pay off his debt, after all.

Kurt's voice was firm and even as he said, "Take me there."

The ride there took about twenty minutes with traffic and all. All the while, Kurt was in the back fidgeting, still trying to make sense of the situation. He hadn't seen New York since he was nineteen, and now it was all rushing past him in a blur. He only slightly realized that he was in skin-tight pants, boots that came up to his knee, and a v-neck that came down low on his chest. It wasn't exactly fashionable, but who would recognize him?

When the car pulled outside the hotel, Kurt opened the door almost before it had stopped. He called out a 'thank you' to the driver, who gave him a puzzled look in return. Obviously, he had been expecting to drive him to an airport, not to the hotel.

Kurt on the other hand, had other ideas. He raced into the front desk, earning a few disapproving stares from the patrons. But whether that was because of his behavior or his attire was anybody's guess.

"Can you please tell me what room Doctor David Karofsky is in, please," he asked, breathless when he reached the front desk. The man behind the counter eyed him for a moment, obviously taking in his appearance. Suddenly, Kurt became hyper-aware of his skin-hugging shirt, jeans, and his hair, tousled from the sex he had had not an hour ago.

Obviously not in a position to turn him away, the desk clerk made a few clicks on the keys of the computer in front of him. "Doctor Karofsky is on floor fourteen, room 3119. He plans to check out today, though. In twenty minutes."

Once again, Kurt was on the run, this time to the elevator. He pressed the up arrow at least twenty times before a _ding_ was emitted and the doors slid open. Kurt waited for the people to file out before he pushed himself inside, pressing the button labeled '14' and then pressing the 'doors close' button around five times before they did as instructed.

It seemed like an eternity before the doors opened and revealed a long hallway, and Kurt stood suddenly, paralyzed in the elevator. What was he doing? Dave had bought him from the Rose to free him, not to see him again. Dave probably didn't ever want to see him again, whether it was guilt or if the fantasy he had didn't live up. So what was Kurt _doing_ here? Did he come to thank him, or tell him how he's been wishing he'd come back, or that he felt like he was more than just another customer? He didn't know, but _something_ made him step out of the elevator and into the hallway.

After a few minutes of searching and light jogging through the halls in hopes of finding the room before Dave left, he finally came across room 3119.

He was about to knock when he noticed a shoe wedged in the door, keeping it open. It was a heel. With Kurt's fashion knowledge, he deduced that it was a Dolce & Gabbana pump made with purple leather and a suede sole. Expensive. More importantly, _definitely_ not likely in Dave's wardrobe, unless...

Without thinking, Kurt picked up the shoe and pushed open the door. Within an instant, he saw a thin, tan girl with flowing black hair standing in only in a lacy bra and underwear. There were bags packed, and he could tell that she was attempting to dress herself.

"Babe, where's my shoe? I know I just threw it off last night when we got back from the bar. I found one, but where the _fuck_ is the other one. _Please_ don't tell me you threw it out the window again. Shoes are fucking expensive! If I see a hooker downstairs with one of my shoes again, I will go _all_ Lima Heights!" she was yelling, and Kurt caught a glimpse of her face as well as a familiar voice and expression.

Walking farther into the room, he held out the violet heel. "...is this what you're looking for, Santana?" he asked in a small voice, part of his chest constricting. Santana was all-but naked in Dave's room. His original prediction of the larger man near a month ago had been correct. Dave had either a wife or a girlfriend, at it was his same beard as back in _high school_.

"Yeah, thanks," she said, not looking up at him for a moment before she grabbed the shoe out of his hand and obviously noticed how unfamiliar the hands were to her. Her dark eyes glanced up to his, studying him before she dropped the shoe and paled. "...oh...oh my god_. Estás viva! Oh, dios mío, estás vivo! Dónde has estado_?" she exclaimed, grabbing his shoulders roughly, as if to make sure he was still tangible.

Kurt only understood a bit of it, French being his secondary language rather than Spanish, but he could understand the general drift. There was still a sort of ache in his chest. What exactly had he been hoping for? To run into Dave's arms, thank him, and live happily ever after like some fairy tale? Maybe.

"...Hi Santana," was all he managed to say before he was wrapped in a bone-breaking hug.

"What the fuck are you doing here? Where the fuck have you been? Are you okay? You look skinny - well, skinner than normal. Oh my _god_, I can't believe you're here." Kurt managed a smile as Santana babbled on. Really, he was just wondering where Dave was. His silent question was soon to be answered though. "Babe! Get out here! You are _so_ not going to believe this!" she yelled before disappearing into the bedroom.

And so Kurt was left in the living area of the hotel room. There was a blanket on the couch and a bed pillow, and he quirked a brow at that. He didn't have much time to ponder, however, before the bathroom door opened and a man walked out.

But it wasn't just a man. It was the exact man that he had come to see and had a fairytale forming in his head about.

It took a moment for Dave to realize he was there, as he was drying his hair, just a pair of jeans on, obviously going casual for his fly back to wherever home was for him. When their eyes locked, though, his hands fell from his head, clinging onto the towel. "...What are you-"

"You bought me," Kurt said suddenly, a little surprised by his own words. In truth, it had been almost a decade since he had been a free man, and it was a little hard to adjust to.

Dave was silent for a moment. "I thought you would go home. See...your dad or something. I don't know. Not come here." He looked toward the bedroom door for a moment. "...Santana freak out?"

Suddenly, Kurt was reminded of the Latina girl that he had gone to school with. She had gone into the bedroom to retrieve her 'babe', but Dave had come out of the bathroom, so...

Santana reemerged from the bedroom with a blonde girl in tow. The Latina stuck out her finger towards him, and the blonde pushed her golden hair from her eyes. Her face instantly lit up and Kurt recognized her in an instant. "...Brittany?"

"Unicorn!" the girl screamed, launching forward into Kurt's arms. She wasn't scarcely dressed like Santana was, instead having on a pair of jeans and a tight-fitting tee shirt with lace. Kurt quickly wrapped his arms around her, not realizing how much he had missed touch without lust and old high school nicknames.

The blonde finally backed away from him, going quickly to Santana and wrapping her arms around her waist. Santana was still looking in awe at him, obviously a thousand questions on her mind. Kurt was looking from the girls' position to Dave and then to the luggage on the floor. It was Dave who jarred them all from their silence.

His voice came deep as he grabbed a red dress-shirt from the couch and began buttoning it. "...We've got about ten minutes to get down there and checked out, guys, so...Maybe we can talk on the plane?" His eyes found Kurt's as he finished the last button. "...Kurt?"

"I'm coming with you," the former-courtesan shot back quickly, without thought. He had no idea where Dave was going, but he felt...obligated to go.

Dave didn't object as Kurt thought he would. Instead, he simply nodded and picked up a dark gray vest, leaving it open over his dress shirt but tucking the crimson material into his jeans. "I'm dropping San and Britt back in Columbus, then I'm visiting my parents for a couple weeks while I'm in Ohio. You can come with and visit your dad or whatever you need to do."

"Yeah, people in Lima have been going crazy. And so has everyone in Glee," came Santana's voice as she pulled on a low-cut, violet shirt. She had on a pair of skinny jeans now, and Kurt watched as she leaned down to pick up the purple shoes, one-half of the pair that had recently been found by Kurt. "You were here one day, then gone the next. People just about _shit_. What the hell happened, Lady Lips?"

"Fucking charming, San," Dave's voice cut in. The Latina gave a shrug. "But you should go see your family and call everyone. Tell them you're safe. But not right now. We don't have time. We need to _check out_. Let's go."

And with that, the four of them were out the door, and Kurt was wondering how the hell he had gotten here.

* * *

><p>Two weeks later, and Kurt was well-fed, well-cried over, and well-dressed once more.<p>

The night he had shown up on his father's doorstep, Burt had just about collapsed right there. Kurt had spoken fast, pleading his dad not to overreact, to take deep breaths, telling him that he was fine. When finally his father had calmed down, Kurt had been taken into the living room and made to recant the last eight years of his life, skipping most of the details. He did, however, tell them everything that Dave had done for him. When the asked him where he had been, Kurt told them. An investigation was being done on the Blooming Rose, but only for people that had been sold there and were not working there on their own terms. Kurt had told the FBI that he wouldn't testify against Phillip in court, though. He had always been decent to him, and he had never been mistreated...for the most part.

Carole had, of course, coddled him and fed him until he pushed the food away. Finn came home with his fiancee, Natalie to visit. Rachel, Mercedes, Quinn, Puck, _everyone_ was at the Hummel-Hudson house at some point. Even Blaine had come, without Sebastian (_big_ surprise there).

He didn't know how many times he had recanted the story, but each time it became a little less unbelievable. Like it wasn't as if he had let his body be used by countless numbers of men over the years. Even some of his friends found the story far-fetched, but they believed him. How couldn't they? Kurt Hummel wasn't one to just disappear without a word, and when they saw the bruises and heard what Dave had to say, they had to believe.

Dave had visited quite often, surprising Kurt each time he saw his face. Finn had wrapped him in a hug the first time he saw him, and so had Burt. Even with all the friends and family milling around, though, it wasn't hard for Kurt to get Dave alone to talk.

"...where are you going after this?" Kurt asked one night, sitting outside on the porch swing in the autumn air with Dave. "I want to come with you, wherever it is."

"San Fransisco, but-"

"California..." the smaller man murmured dreamily, cutting the other off. California would be a nice change from what he had known before. All the sun, the beaches. Even if it was San Fransisco.

When he came back from his thoughts, he noticed a pair of hazel eyes on him. Kurt sucked his lip between his teeth, worrying it for a moment.

Dave's brows were furrowed, those beautiful hazel eyes holding a sort of strange sort of emotion that Kurt couldn't quite place. The ex-courtesan's stomach sank like it had when he told him he would never return to the brothel. "...Kurt..." he started.

"Are you leaving me here like you left me in that brothel? Am I never going to see you again? That's _bullshit_, Karofsky, and you know it!" Kurt yelled, standing from the swing suddenly and staring down at the man.

"No, Kurt... I just... I move around with work all the time. I can't settle down in one place like I'm sure you want to. Be...a family or whatever you want. I know you've spent all this time wasted and that's probably what you want, but I can't. Not now, anyways. I'm always in Montana, or Maine, or New Mexico. Sometimes Europe. I just can't give you what I want," the larger man explained.

Kurt stood wide-eyed, again trying to make sense of everything. A jagged breath left him finally, and he raked his hands through his hair. "...You don't get to tell me what I want, Hamhock."

Now it was Dave's turn to look with a wide-eyed gaze. "Fancy, I-"

"No!" Kurt yelled, eyes starting to brim. He wasn't going to wait with a bated breath for Dave to come back for him again. Dave had _saved_ him when he thought he would never be saved. "You have _no_ idea what I want. How can you? _I_ don't even know what I want! So don't try to psychoanalyze me like one of your patients! I'm not!" He took a deep breath, calming down slightly. "I was inside one building for eight years until you _saved_ me. The _only_ thing I know anymore is that I want to stay with you. I feel safe with you. I _want_ you. So let me be with you."

He had only slightly realize that he had begun crying. But suddenly his vision was blurred by his tears, and he didn't see as Dave stood up, wrapping two familiar, burly arms around him. Kurt wrapped his own arms around his neck, burying his face into the crook of his shoulder and crying. They stayed like that for almost an hour, Dave cradling him and Kurt just letting everything out at once.

* * *

><p>Kurt set down his bags on the hardwood floor, looking up at the house. It was simple, one story, but two rooms. Giving a click of his tongue, he looked back at Dave. "I expected it to be bigger, <em>Doctor Karofsky<em>," he commented, teasing.

He could hear Dave's familiar rumble of a laugh, and then the other man's bags being placed down on the floor. "Yeah, well I'm not home much. So it works. And there's an extra bed for you."

"Well, I was thinking we could just share, but..." Kurt giggled after he spoke, then turned full around to face his savior, his new-found lover. As he walked towards him, he stood a bit more on his toes, leaning up to wrap his arms around his neck. "Thank you..."

"For what?"

"Everything."

And then Dave leaned down and kissed him, and it was slow and passionate. Everything Kurt had been lacking and everything he had ever wanted. Everything he had missed out on the last eight years of his life. And he was free and he was happy and he wasn't trapped. And Dave would still be there in the morning. And everything was going to be _alright._

He could feel as his cheeks burst into a flaming color, and leaned farther into the kiss with a smile. He could feel something more in the kiss than just some sort of rose-tinted emotion. Love, he thought, or the first inklings of it. And he hoped, perhaps against hope, that this time Love would be kinder to him than it had been in the past. That it would grant him that '_happily ever after_' ending he had always dreamed of. Maybe that was impossible, but he was sure they could achieve something close. Dave, after all, was his knight in shining armor. Himself, perhaps a damsel in distress. Perhaps a prince waiting to be rescued. Or maybe he was just a courtesan who was freed from a debt by his former bully.

Finally, he decided that names and labels were simply useless for what they had shared, for what had happened. It all came down to the same scenario, and psychoanalysis was Dave's forte.

And, besides, _a rose by any other name would smell as sweet_.


End file.
